Ficlets
by ElsTrays
Summary: You sent me prompts. I wrote them into one/two chapter fanfics. Sherlock, WTNV, Smosh Games, Hannah Hart. Thak you so much guys! I do not own any of the topics.
1. Wrong (part a)

**Author's notes: Hey guys, first chapter is a holy trinity fic based off the horror prompt. **

* * *

><p>I feel as though time only passes by slowly when you don't want it to. It seems the more I wait, the slower time goes by. The alleyway outside the theatre was cold and dark. The only light came from an emergency exit sign above the back stage door, it's green light flickered spasmodically, plunging the surroundings into darkness. The only sounds were the distant engines of cars, passing by benignantly. My fingers had begun to grow numb from the cold and my teeth chattered uncontrollably. It didn't help that my thin layer of clothes had grown damp from the rain that was light and therefore flew around in the air, curling around several times before landing on a surface. My skin had lost all heat and was beginning to sting, and my hair had small droplets of water clinging on to each strand. I looked down either end of the alleyway, which was lined by years of decaying rubbish, but there was still no one there.<p>

It had been half an hour since I had been separated from Mamrie and Grace. I don't know where they went or how we got separated, but I figured they would meet back at the theatre. So thats where I went. But they were no where inside the theatre, but the building had been wrecked. Tables upturn backstage, the seats had bee torn, the yellow sponge filling spewing from the red velvet covers, and across the safety curtain. But there wasn't really was there, I only imagined it. The tables were fine, the seats were fine, the safety curtain was fine, everything was fine. Then why did I come out of the the theatre panting? Maybe I imagined it, maybe nothing's wrong at all.

"Hannah!", I turned to my right expecting to see a screaming fa, but it was Grace. Running towards me with fear in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Where's Mamrie?" she replied.

"I don't know," I said stupidly. "Grace what's wrong, why were you running?"

"I was running from -nothing. Lets go get ready for the show" Grace said, her tone completely changing from one of profound worry to one of complete normality, as though nothing had happened, and nothing had happened really. I am sure that Grace walked calmly over to me and that nothing is wrong.

She unlocked the door with the key that the stage management had given her when we first arrived and stepped inside the theatre. I looked down the alleyway again to look for Mamrie, and there she was, standing at the end of the alleyway, drenched in water and breathing heavily.

She began to stumble towards me and as she grew closer, I realised that it was not Mamrie at all. The women who was stumbling towards me had dark, unkempt hair, and was covered in deep wounds that seemed to have bled profusely. As she limped I realised that her right foot was facing the wrong way.

The memories of the night came flooding back, the bloodshed, the pain, the fear. I looked down at my left hand, with a bloody stump in the place of my ring finger. How could I have forgotten about how she ripped my finger out with her bare hands?

I turned and ran into the theatre, nearly knocking over Grace as I ran into her.

"Woah there. Are you okay?" she asked me. I looked down at my left hand. All fingers still, but then again, why would they be. I looked back up at Grace.

"Nothing. Lets go find Mamrie" I said, walking deeper into the backstage area of the theatre.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's notes: Part two coming soon!<strong>


	2. Wrong (part b)

**Author's note: Part two to the horror prompt. This was goes through some dark themes, caution.**

* * *

><p>We walked into the theatre indifferently. The brick dust felt carpet was stained, worn and tired, it had clearly seen many years of over use. The walls were also fashioned with a deep vermillion velvet, giving the entire atmosphere of the backstage area in the theatre, an overly comfortable feel, as though life was always warm and easy. The air itself was warm and smelled musty, like dust. I remembered the unpleasant fact that dust was just dead particles of human skin, and realised how many entertainers would have stood anxiously here while waiting for their cue and adoring audience.<p>

I looked towards Grace whose blond hair was soaked through, making it stick to her face in uneven clumps. I shivered despite the warm interior as we headed towards the stage to look for Mamrie, for we knew she liked to practice several times before performing. he also had several strange rituals before performing, such as taking a shot, but I always presumed that was more for nerves than luck.

I heard Grace give an audible gasp when the stage came into view as we turned around a corner. I walked around her, pushing aside the thick black curtain designed to conceal the actors from the audience, but were now obstructing my view of whatever had made Grace react in such a way. However, upon seeing the stage, I understood my friends reaction.

The wooden floorboards that made up the stage floor were sticking out at different angles, torn from the stage as though a violent wind had torn them from their foundations. I walked onto the stage, treading carefully as to avoid the shrapnels of wood which seemed to point their pale, thin bodies in every direction, making the act of not getting a splinter in my foot nearly impossible.

"What the hell happened here?" I asked once I had reached the middle of the stage giving myself a position from which to see the destruction from a clear angle.

"I don't know," Grace said simply "Where is everyone though. We have a show tonight and I haven't seen one member of staff anywhere. You'd think with the stage looking like this there would be someone around."

"Maybe we should call the company, I mean what else can we do. We might have to cackle the show too." I said cautiously making my way back to Grace.

"I'll call them." Grace said getting out her phone from her back pocket. the light from her phone illuminated her face briefly as she dialled the number to the manager, who had called them but an hour a go. By the time I had got back to her she was waiting for a response with her phone pressed against the side of her face.

Then we heard the buzzing, the vibration of a repeated pattern.

"Do you hear that?" I asked searching around the room. "It sounds like a phone." Grace nodded as she lowered her phone to concentrate on the source of the buzzing. I followed the sound, searching for it's origin, turning my head to the side to focus on the sound. Yet it seemed as though the noise was coming from above us. I tilted my head upwards out of curiosity. I screamed despite myself at the scarring image I saw.

About fifty bodies, human bodies, hang lifeless from the stage lights. They were the employees of the company. One of the men in the far end of the room had a light glowing from his trouser pocket, which went out when I heard Grace hang up the phone.

"What the actual fuck." I heard Grace say petrified, I didn't say anything. I couldn't, what was there to say. I felt her larger body embracing mine in feared I held her close, still looking at the hanging bodies, unable to look away. Their faces all held a similar, petrified expression, their mouths wide open and fear in their eyes. it seemed as though their life just ended suddenly, with out warning as their uniforms seemed undamaged and there was no sign of blood. Fact there was no sign of anything that could cause death. As I looked closer I noticed that the staff weren't actually hanging from anything. They were just floating in suspended animation, slowly turning from side to side. The only indication that they were dead was the faint blue tinge to their complexion and the dullness of their open eyes.

I looked down at last and angrily kicked the nearest wooden floor board, dislodging it from the floor. The shard began to ascend slowly, with no force acting upon it. Grace and I watched it intently as it rose higher and higher. Once it reached eye level I grabbed it, feeling a thousand splinters pierce my skin as I grabbed it with my left hand still missing a finger, pulling into my body.

"Hannah!" Grace screamed next to me. I looked towards her, noticing that she was looking straight ahead of her. I followed her gaze to find the woman, the same woman as outside looking at us smiling. For a moment we stood there looking at each other, an uncontrollable fear running through my body, then she raised her hands an along with it went the remainder of the stage flooring, the fragments of wood piercing through the bodies of those above us. She began to limp towards us still smiling eagerly.

"Lets get out of here." I shouted to Grace, grabbing her arm.

"Not without Mamrie, we need to find her." She said pulling me back as I moved away.

"Grace, she could be anywhere. She might not even be in the theatre" I reasoned. The women had reached the middle of the stage.

"We haven't checked her dressing room. Please, Hannah."She begged, I reluctantly agreed and began running to the dressing room we all shared down the red corridor.

"Why are we running?" Grace asked as she began to slow down.

"I don't know," I replied. There was nothing to worry about, nothing was wrong. "I think if Mamrie's not in the dressing room then we should call her."

"Yeah sure." Grace said as we continued to walk down the corridor.

We entered the dressing room and saw Mamrie, bound tightly in the corner. She screamed when we entered, the noise muffled by her gagged mouth, but she calmed when she realised it was us.

"Mamrie! What happened?" Grace said as she began to release Mamrie. When her mouth was free she looked at me and screamed:

"Hannah! Behind you!"

I turned around quickly to see the woman who had finally caught up with us. She began to raise her hand but on instinct I raised mine, still holding the slither of wood I had obtained back on the stage, and plunged it into her.

"Hannah!" Grace shouted, her scream bringing me back into reality. There was Mamrie, a piece of wood plunged deep into her, blood streaming out, her face aghast in shock. She suddenly fell on the floor, her lifeless form, laying at my feet.

I turned back towards Grace, unable to form any words. Behind her, the woman was laughing crazily. She stopped laughing to say.

"Nothing's wrong Grace. Lets just get out of here. Go home."

I found myself repeating these words without me wanting to.

"Nothing wrong? Hannah you just killed our best friend." Grace said panicking.

_I know, Grace. It's not me saying this._

The woman spoke again, and again I repeated her.

"We don't have another friend," the woman now touched Grace on her shoulder, the blond woman seemed completely unaware "We never had a friend. We should go home now."

And so we both left the theatre. As soon as we shut the door, all recollection of the night's events wiped from our memory. We got into Grace's car and drove away from the theatre, never to return.

Never to remember our dearest friend.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: This was scarily fun to write. Hope you enjoyed it. xx<strong>


	3. Christmas Jumper

**Author's Note: Sorry this took so long to upload but I had no motivation to write this for ages. This is a Johnlock Christmas fluff. Hope you enjoy it. Don't be afraid to leave a review and this is the first piece of fluff I've ever written so tell me how I did. xx**

* * *

><p><span>Christmas Jumper<span>

"Come on. Please. Just for me?" John pleaded to his boyfriend, Sherock Holmes, who was staring pointedly at the screen of the laptop, placed upon his legs as he lay on their sofa in the flat. Sherlock was avoiding John's gaze while he was holding an oversized Christmas jumper, with two reindeers on it. Sherlock new that as soon as he looked into the Doctor's eyes, he would subdue to John's pleas, but he refused to be seen in such ridiculous attire.

After realising he could get no response from Sherlock by asking him, John put down the Christmas jumper on his own arm chair, and walked over to the dark leather sofa where his boyfriend lay. Kneeling down by `sherlock's ear, he whispered: "Please.", but still the taller man was unresponsive, the white glare from the screen reflection on his perfectly formed features.

John clambered on top of Sherlock, closing the laptop and placing it on the floor before kissing Sherlock passionately, wrapping his arm around the other man's slender body, grabbing his silk shirt.

"Sherlock," John said, pulling away from the kiss to start sucking on Sherlock's impressive jawline.

"John?" Sherlock moaned, turning his head to one side to better accommodate the smaller man.

"Put on the jumper." John said smiling when he felt Sherlock sigh internally.

"John." Sherlock repeated more sternly, pushing John to the side and standing up.

"John, look at this," Sherlock said, indicating the grand Christmas tree placed in the corner of the room, between the kitchen and the main room. "Did we not spend hours buying ornaments and hanging them on this ridiculously large conifer?" Sherlock said whilst playing with a bright red bauble hanging on one of the higher branches of the tree.

"It's Christmas." John said for the hundredth time within the recent month. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed before adding:

"It's been Christmas for a year now."

"It's only December 10th." John said, loosing his patience.

"When's Christmas?" Sherlock asked considering this statement for a moment.

"25th." John said, still amazed at Sherlock's limited knowledge.

"John, this is ridiculous. I refuse to start celebrating fifteen days before an event." Sherlock said sternly.

"Okay." John said submissively. Feeling content with the outcome, Sherlock nodded and walked elegantly to the kitchen where he opened the fridge, where John knew a jar of tongues sat.

John walked into the kitchen and hugged Sherlock from behind.

"Sherlock?" He said, resting his head on the taller man's back. "Put on the jumper."

Sherlock sighed and pulled away from John and walked over to the armchair which the jumper lay on. He lifted the jumper from the hair and examined it closely.

"This is like your jumper." Sherlock remarked. John laughed, it wasn't one of Sherlocks best deductions but it was correct.

"Yes, because that's what couples do," John explained, and Sherlock sighed again. " Sherlock Holmes, put on the fucking jumper." John demanded in a military fashion, turning on Sherlock slightly.

Sherlock finally gave in and finally pulled the jumper over his head. The fit was an exact opposite to his tight shirts and trousers, which often seemed to scream at John to be ripped of Sherlock's body. The jumper folded on Sherlock's waist, and the sleeves hanged low, falling past the detective's long hands.

"John, I look ridiculous" Sherlock said consciously.

"No you don't."John said walking over to Sherlock and rolling up the sleeves.

John had to admit , Sherlock looked much more inviting in this attire. He felt compelled to embrace the taller man, and when he did, Sherlock wrapped his arms around the John, at first loosely, then tighter when he had grown comfortable with the contact.

"Thank you." John mumbled lovingly. Sherlock said nothing, but rested his head on the smaller man's shoulder to acknowledge the statement.

"Sherlock?" John said.

Sherlock hummed in reply, the deep note reverberating between the two men.

"How about some mistletoe?" John suggested, knowing he was pushing his luck, but he tried anyway.

"John." Sherlock warned, pulling away from the embrace. John watched as the other man picked up the abandoned laptop, and walked towards the bedroom. John laughed lovingly as Sherlock appeared to be less elegant in the jumper. His movements were more clumsy and John watched as Sherlock closed the door behind him, loving his every movement.


	4. Opening of the Door

**Author's Note: This is an Ianthony fic since a lot of you have been asking me to write it into my main fic. It's not going to happen guys, so chill. Here's the compensation. This pic was based off the prompt "Fanfic title: Opening of the Door". Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

><p><span>Opening of the Door<span>

Ian

Brown was all he saw. It was not a muddy, dirt-coloured brown, it was rich, and had different shades depending on how the light hit it. Anthony's hair was nestled in Ian's face as he slept peacefully. Ian however was restless. He lay perfectly motionless, dead in movement, so as to not disturb the man asleep beside him, but his mind raced. He thought of all that he had to do today at the Smosh Games office, the paper work, the filming, the editing, the planning. I felt uncomfortable as the thought of all the work that had accumulated over the past week, and he was doing doing nothing. The truth was, this week had been especially… distracting.

He and Anthony had confessed their feelings towards each other, well they had started making out in the props cupboard, but it was something. Ian smiled as he recalled all their "I'm just going to print something" sessions. Of course none of their co-workers new, but that simply added a sense of mystery to their whole relationship. Ian felt his arm begin to tingle with the warning signs of pins and needles as Anthony's weight rested upon it. He shifted it slightly, in an attempt to free it, but then he saw the flickering of Anthony's eyes and knew that he had awoken him.

Anthony

He slowly grew in consciousness, enveloped in Ian's warmth. He was incredibly scared when he first asked Ian to the props cupboard, but now he was sharing a bed with him, sleeping with him, and waking up with his most loved person. Anthony tilted his head backwards to look into the blue eyes of his Ian. He attempted to smile, but was interrupted by a yawn that overpowered him. He laughed when he looked at Ian again. Anthony leant in to kiss Ian, but Ian leant in most of the way, dominating the kiss.

"Did I wake you up?" Ian asked when they pulled away.

"Yeah, but it doesn't matter." Anthony expressed.

They both lay in each other's conscious presence for several minutes, not saying anything as the companionship of the other being in the room filled the space that talking would have fulfilled. Eventually Ian began to fidget under the sheets until he crawled out of bed and got dressed. Anthony watched him as he pulled a shirt over his head, his back becoming more defined as he stretched his muscles. He turned to put on his pants and the sunlight caught the strands of his beard giving them a golden look, and the light reflected against his eyes that seemed bluer in this light. Anthony drew his eyes away from Ian so that he too would be able to get dressed.

Ian

They drove in Ian's blue car, a collection of their favourite songs that they had been building since their childhood friendship. Ian never thought then that they would still be friends all these years later, let alone be what they they are now. He sat in the driver seat, slowly getting frustrated with the mounting traffic, but the steady breathing of Anthony calmed him. As they stopped at yet another red light, Ian looked over at Anthony who was on his laptop with the Zelda decal. Ian smiled at the look of concentration on Anthony's face as he read something on the glaring screen.

As the two men entered the building, laughing at a joke that Anthony had slipped in before they were separated by different tasks, a tired Jovenshire strode up behind them, bringing the facade of normality between Ian and Anthony with him. They all got into the shining elevator, the four walls covered in mirrors. Ian hated those goddamn mirrors. The doors slid open and they ambled to the kitchen where Sohinki and Mari were already making a morning beverage.

"You look like shit." Sohinki remarked to a disgruntled Joven

"Thanks. Not too bad yourself." Joven replied reaching into a cupboard and retrieving a cup. This was what Ian's life had come to, a seemingly undisturbed normality, that was also incredibly misleading.

Anthony

The day was going slowly, too slowly. He had only just gotten into the filming room when he wanted to text Ian to tell him stop whatever he was doing and meet him in the props room. He sat down in the large cushioned desk chair and waited for Ian to join him for this week's Gametime with Smosh. He looked out the window and saw through the slants of the blinds, where a glimpse of the outside world was permitted, that there were large dark grey clouds, looming overhead, but no rain, yet. Anthony sighed as he had not been prepared for such a sudden change in weather, as Ian walked into the room.

"What's up" Ian asked, keeping a safe distance away from Anthony incase someone were to barge into the room.

"It's going to rain." he replied, setting up the game they were to play.

"Don't worry, it said on the news that it was going to rain, so it can't." Ian assured. Anthony looked at him skeptically.

"Are we really talking about the weather?" he joked.

"Shut up," Ian replied, quickly planting a kiss on Anthony, before returning to his indifferent behaviour .

Ian

Now was finally the time. Ian had completed all the tasks he had set out to do that day and the promise of a text from Anthony hanging torturously. He paced the kitchen alone, willing himself not to be tempted by the week old pizza left on the counter. Then came the vibration in his back pocket and the small tune that signified a text. He began walking towards the prop cupboard, only checking the text at the last minute. "Prop room. Now ;)". He did not need to be asked twice.

Anthony

When Ian entered the room he did not hesitate, and grabbed Ian by the waist, pulling him into his grip, Ian reacting by wrapping his arms around Anthony and closing the door behind him by kicking the door closed behind him. They began kissing each other passionately, hands caressing every inch of each other, not bothering to even turn on the lights. Anthony pushed Ian against a wall, but he caught his foot on a rogue prop and both came crashing down, Anthony on top of Ian but this did not deter them. They continued kissing, almost violently, Ian beginning to remove Anthony's shirt.

That's when they heard the sound of death, the turn of the handle. Then a sudden burst of light filling the room, exposing what would normally be a mess of a props cupboard, but now exposed two men, apparently in a platonic relationship, in an intimate position. Lasercorn stood in the doorway, a dark glow coming from him as the contrast of the light outside and the dark room were emphasised. He seemed unsure of what to do, and hesitated for a moment before walking away, but returning only to close the door. When the initial shock of what had just happened faded, Ian and Anthony looked at each other, and began laughing uncontrollably. They did not know why. Maybe because of the whole comical situation, or maybe because now things could change for the better. Equally they could change for the worse, but at least now things were destined to change.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Next time <strong>**will be another Sherlock fic.**


End file.
